


Starlight

by Lucency (LuminousLantern)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ardyn Izunia Being Ardyn Izunia, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gods, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Original Character(s), Niflheim (Final Fantasy XV), Tenebrae (Final Fantasy XV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousLantern/pseuds/Lucency
Summary: Arcturus Lucis Caelum spent his whole life reaching for the stars. No one told him about the fall.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	1. Soul of the Star - Part 1

_Arcturus Lucis Caelum._

Aulea considered the newborn laying on her chest, his lower half wrapped in a golden blanket. Even now, she was too weak to hold him. Her hand rose, the tips of her fingers brushing through soft curls of his dark brown hair. Another boy for Insomnia. Another Prince to be adored by his people.

Her firstborn stood beside her bed, peeking at Arcturus with awe. Aulea brushed a hand against Noctis' cheek. "Oh, my sweet boy," she murmured.

"Can I touch him?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Of course. You have to be gentle with him, okay?" She patted the empty space beside her.

Noctis nodded a few times and scrambled up. Aulea tried not to wince. Only minutes before, the bed had been bathed in her blood. At her request, servants had replaced as much of the ruined sheets as they could and threw a clean one over her legs before letting Noctis in. After all, she promised him that he could see his brother once he was born.

Aulea had them shoo her doctors from the room as well, giving her a moment of privacy with her children. Noctis knelt next to her, leaning over to look at Arcturus.

"He's quite small, isn't he?" she asked. He wasn't as fussy as Noctis had been at birth. She was grateful for it. He'd cried only briefly, and then fallen asleep. His mouth was open, and it reminded her of Regis when he slept.

"Tiny," Noctis agreed. He reached out and poked his cheek.

"Gentle," Aulea reminded him.

Noctis pouted. "I am!"

Aulea wanted to poke him back since Arcturus couldn't, but she didn't have the strength. While Noctis admired the newest addition to their family, she looked to the window. A curtain was pulled over the glass, but her mind drifted beyond the view.

_Where are you, Regis?_

He _would_ be nowhere near the Citadel when her water broke, wouldn't he? But it wasn't his fault. His duties as King would always trump her own needs. Aulea smiled as she remembered his panicked voice on the other end of the phone, telling her to hold on as if she could simply stop Arcturus from making his grand entrance into the world through sheer will alone.

She couldn't. In fact, it was precisely as a servant took the phone from her that she was told to push.

"My impatient Prince," she said, running a finger down his back.

"What color are his eyes?" Noctis asked, looking at her now.

Aulea hummed. She didn't know. His eyes never opened. "Green," she said. _Like hers._ She hoped, anyway. Wasn't it enough that Noctis took after Regis? Couldn't she have this one?

"I don't think I've ever seen anybody with green eyes," Noctis said.

Aulea wanted to remind him that he was both only three-years-old and had never set foot outside the Citadel, but she was tired so she gave him a smile instead.

Regis would throw a fit if he knew that she'd sent her doctors away. If he knew, even now, that she was still losing blood. There wasn't anything anybody could do for her. Aulea knew her body. And even if she didn't, her doctors' failure to stop the bleeding for several minutes told her all she needed to know.

"You will," Aulea managed. "A lot of people have green eyes." _Around Insomnia_ , she wanted to add, but couldn't.

No one expected her to live this long. She was reckless for allowing herself to become pregnant again, they would whisper behind her back. Noctis' birth nearly killed her, and she never quite recovered from it. Her health was deteriorating, slowly, slowly, but her death was a matter of _when_ not _if._

Perhaps she was reckless. She would shorten her remaining time with Regis, leave Noctis without a mother, all for a child Insomnia didn't need.

But one _she_ wanted.

Perhaps she was a fool as well for thinking she was strong enough to endure another birth and to watch them grow up.

"Will he sleep in my room?"

Aulea cupped Noctis' cheek. "No, my sweet boy. He'll have his own room."

_How was she supposed to tell him?_

Noctis leaned into her hand. "But why? He should sleep with me, so I can take care of him."

Aulea's breath caught. She pulled him close and kissed his cheek. He wiped it away as soon as she released him. If she was stronger, she would have laughed. "Cherish each other, always," she said.

Noctis nodded. "I will. You'll be happy if we don't fight?"

Aulea only smiled. "Very much." She shouldn't have expected him to understand that she meant beyond getting along. _Cherish each other, because I won't be able to._

The door swung open and Regis, in a state of disarray, stumbled into the room. He didn't look so much like a King with that frantic look on his face. He looked like a worried father. Cor and Clarus piled in behind him.

"Come," Aulea said, and Regis' eyes flicked to hers. "Meet your son, Arcturus."

"My…?" Regis seemed to realize then that the room was empty. He looked at Arcturus. Then her. Then back again. "Arcturus," he repeated.

Noctis climbed off the bed and went to Regis. "Can he sleep with me? Pretty please."

Regis stared down at him. "You've already had him?" he asked in a state of shock.

"I couldn't persuade him to wait," Aulea said, amused. "I tried very hard."

Regis came closer to the bed while Cor distracted Noctis. "Arcturus Lucis Caelum," he breathed.

"Arcturus Lucis Caelum," she confirmed. Aulea took his hand. His fingers were calloused. It was hard to remember sometimes that the same man who stood gaping at her like a fish fought in the Great War.

"Congratulations, sire," Clarus said.

Regis reached for Arcturus, but hesitated, looking to her for permission.

"What are you afraid of, Regis? They used to have to tear Noctis from your arms," she said. If her voice was growing faint, no one mentioned it.

"Yes, but," Regis looked to their son again. "He looks so peaceful."

There was so much she wanted to say to him. So much she wanted to show Noctis.

In the end, Regis' hands fell back to his sides. Aulea slipped her hand back in his because she could feel a weight settle on her eyelids, encouraging them to close. She supposed this was enough. Her King, looking at their son with love. Noctis, his back to her so he wouldn't have to witness this.

And little Arcturus, healthy despite the odds.

"I want you to know," she managed. Regis glanced at her and she smiled, even as alarm filled his eyes. "I love you and Noct dearly."

Satisfied, Aulea's hand fell away from Regis'.

By the time the doctor's responded to the King's shout, she was already dead.


	2. Soul of the Star - Part 2

Noct had a problem.

With effort, he pushed open the doors of his father's study. The Crownsguard stationed outside held their fists over their hearts, bowing briefly to him as he passed. Cor stood close to his father on the right, pointing at something on a map spread over his desk. He stopped talking as soon as Noct stepped inside. Clarus was to the left, watching but not directly involved.

"You've been taught to knock, haven't you, Prince Noctis?" Cor asked.

His father held up a hand and Cor backed off. "I can spare a moment, Noct, but no more. What is it?"

The answer came in the form of small hands and feet slapping against the tile. Noct held the door but didn't look down as his little brother crawled into the room and sat beside him.

"Arcturus is following me," Noct informed his father.

Cor looked exasperated.

His father raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So?" Noct repeated, affronted. "He's been following me all week. He won't leave me alone."

"Arc is still very young, Noct," his father said. "You have to be patient with him. He doesn't want to be apart from you. Is that so bad?"

"He cries when I go to the bathroom," Noct pouted.

"He loves you very much," his father soothed.

Clarus looked amused.

To demonstrate his dilemma, Noct moved until he was directly in front of his father's desk. Arc, sucking heartily on his pacifier, padded after him. "He takes the toys I want to play with," he complained. "He only wants to eat what I'm eating. I can't go anywhere by myself." He waved his arms to emphasize the point.

"And what would you like me to do?" his father asked, indulging him.

"Take him," Noct said. With a grunt, he picked Arc up and presented him to their father.

His father folded his hands together on his desk. "Well, Arcturus? Would you like to accompany me for the day?"

Cor shook his head. "You can't, sire. You have far too much to do to look after him."

Arc looked at their father in disinterest, then tilted his head to inspect the floor. Noct made an annoyed noise at his brother.

"He doesn't seem interested in my proposition, Noct. What do you suggest I do now?" his father asked.

"Take him anyway," Noct said. He set his brother down on the desk, but away from the map. He knew how grabby his hands were.

"Where is his nursemaid?"

"There's nothing she can do," Noct muttered.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"He screams when she picks him up."

His father blinked. "He what?"

"Yes," Noct said simply.

"Why?"

Noct shook his head. "Why does he do anything?"

"Perhaps we should find another nursemaid?" Clarus suggested.

"His nursemaid has been with him since birth," his father protested. "Surely, if there was a problem, I would have heard of it before now?"

"Sire," Cor said with a sigh.

"Arc only started doing it a few days ago," Noct said helpfully.

"Does he still allow her to feed and change him?" Clarus asked, thoughtful.

"Yes."

His father looked skyward. "Why?" he asked again, to no one in particular.

Arc abruptly turned and made a beeline for the map. Cor rushed forward, sensing the impending doom, but Noct scooped him up first. Arc didn't seem pleased, but he rubbed his head against Noct's cheek. For some reason.

" _Ack_ ," Noct turned his face away. "Quit it."

Arc did not quit it.

"It's only when she stops him from following you that he screams?" Clarus clarified.

"He likes to scream when she picks him up in the morning too," Noct informed them, leaning his head back.

"A form of greeting?" his father murmured to his Shield.

"We should finish discussing the presence of more Niflheim soldiers in Altissa," Cor suggested.

"That seems quite unlikely, sire. Arc appears not to dislike his nursemaid entirely, but very specific and simultaneously random actions," Clarus said back to their father.

Noct put Arc down on two feet, only for his brother to plop down. "You know how to walk," he muttered.

"Even as an infant, Noctis was never this inexplicable," his father said, almost to himself.

"Oh, Gladiolus was much worse than this," Clarus said. "He liked to jump off things."

"I didn't say Arcturus was difficult _,"_ his father responded. "I said inexplicable. There is quite the difference."

Clarus bowed his head, conceding the point. "In any case, what will you do to help Prince Noctis, sire?"

"Is your son available assist him?" he suggested. "He will one day become Noct's Shield, after all."

Clarus smiled. "He does not have the patience for such a task, my liege. Not yet. I fear he will only make matters worse. My apologies."

His father tapped the desk with a finger, as if the task before him was beyond him. "Perhaps you should use the bathroom less frequently, Noct."

x

* * *

x

Gladio hated Arcturus Lucis Caelum.

He stood with his arms crossed, peering down into his sister's crib. She was dressed from head-to-toe in pink. A pink bonnet too big for her head. Pink mittens to stop her from scratching herself. Pink socks. She was so small, still.

And yet, when she was old enough, she would be Prince Arcturus' Shield. Just as it was his fate for Prince Noctis. It was what they did, as Amicitias. Generation after generation his family had stood between the Caelum royalty and the world. That didn't mean Gladio had to like it.

If Prince Arcturus had never been born, his sister wouldn't have to be a Shield to anyone.

He didn't turn when he heard footsteps behind him, or the heavy clank of his father's armor. Nor when a hand dropped on his head and ruffled his hair.

"Standing watch over Iris again, eh?" Clarus asked. "I thought you would be training."

Gladio frowned. He got to spend so little time with his father. He understood why, but that made it no less frustrating when he came back like this. He was still wearing armor, which meant his visit was temporary. Gladio expected him to return to the King no sooner than after their conversation was over.

"Why can't it be me?" he asked.

The patting stopped.

"Why can't I be Shield for both of them?"

His father squeezed his shoulder. "You can't be in two places at once, Gladdy. And the Princes won't remain together forever."

_Was it so bad that he wanted to protect his little sister?_

Gladio had known his fate since he was old enough to understand it. He would protect the Crown Prince or he would die trying. And that was it. It was different though, looking at it from this perspective. Iris was so soft, so very small.

He couldn't have looked like this as a baby, could he?

He wanted her to be safe, to be happy, but she wouldn't get that as a Shield. Gladio didn't have any goals or dreams of what he wanted to be when he was older, but if he did, they wouldn't have mattered. He swore not for his own happiness or well-being, but to protect the crown to the best of his ability.

How he felt didn't matter as long as he gave Prince Noctis peace of mind.

Gladio never thought much of it before, but now he feared Iris having that kind of life.

"Iris will make a fine Shield for Prince Arcturus," his father said in the silence after. "It's in her blood, after all."

"But she's so…" he trailed off. It didn't feel right to call her weak. "Squishy," he finally said.

His father smiled. "As much as you may not believe it, you were an infant too once. And not that long ago, either."

Gladio made a face at the crib. It didn't make sense to him, how he'd gone from a tiny, helpless baby to this. A fighter, a swordsman. He wasn't very good yet, but he couldn't imagine the in-between stages. He'd always been like this.

He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't being tutored in hand-to-hand combat. Or swinging around a practice sword. When he thought of being born, he thought of appearing suddenly, perhaps a year or two younger, a wooden sword already in his palm.

But Iris was a baby. She couldn't hold a sword. She couldn't lift a shield. She couldn't even strap guards on her arms and legs to protect herself.

"That's a lie," Gladio said, because it felt like one.

If what his father said was true, why couldn't he remember it? Why couldn't he remember that mysterious time when he wasn't familiar with the ache in his muscles after a long day of practicing his strikes? When he didn't know how to analyze the opponent before him?

His father patted his head again. "She will grow to be a warrior, just like you have, and you'll witness her transformation yourself. Perhaps then you'll believe me."

Gladio shook his head. "Why can't someone else do it?"

"Someone else?" his father repeated. "Someone not of the Amiticia family?"

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. "No."

"Who then, if not Iris?"

Gladio opened his mouth. Closed it. Because if neither he nor his father were willing to allow someone else to become a Shield in Iris' place, to give up some of their power and standing, then it had to be her. His mother, well, she wasn't around to give him another sibling to switch with her.

He tightened his crossed arms. "Someone else," he grumbled.

"Someone of this family, but not Iris?" his father asked, amused.

"Yes," Gladio bit out. It was always hard for him to talk when he thought about his mother. It felt like there was something stuck in his throat, though he knew there was nothing there.

"You are still the same child who refused to use any weapon but a broadsword and then nearly broke both his arms out of sheer stubbornness," his father murmured.

Gladio didn't remember that, either.

"Iris will make a fine Shield," his father said again. "Just as you will for Prince Noctis."

Gladio knew that his time with his father was up when he released his shoulder. Still, he didn't turn around. There was a brief, eternal silence, and then his father left the room. Just as Gladio knew he would.

He stepped closer to the crib, fingers curling around the rail. "I don't care what he says," he told Iris. "I'll protect you from the Prince. I swear it." He reached in and squeezed her tiny hand.

x

* * *

x

After only a moment's hesitation, Regis approached the Crystal.

The air around it was thick with magic. It was almost visible, like dust particles in the light. It glowed brighter as he neared and the ring on his finger felt just a tad heavier, pulsing in harmony with the ancient artifact.

Had he not been here countless times before, he might've felt overwhelmed. As it was, it felt like walking into a place he hadn't visited in a while. Old and new at once. He used to come here once a year, asking the gods for guidance as the war raged on and the Empire encroached on more and more of his territory. They never answered.

Still, he came. Up until the death of his Queen.

It had been five years since he last visited the Crystal. He knelt, despite the protest of his aching body. The wall taking its toll already. He bowed his head out of respect.

"Oh, old gods of yore, hear me! I am Regis Lucis Caelum, protector of the Crystal and wielder of the Ring of Lucii," he began. "I do not come to ask for power, but for knowledge. Tell me how best I can keep the Crystal safe from those who would abuse its power."

Regis waited and waited, but the gods didn't answer him. It was expected, but he still felt the sting of disappointment. He stood and turned to go—

"Regis Lucis Caelum," the voice that came from the Crystal was not one but many, layered on top of each other and indistinguishable.

The voices of the Astrals.

At once, Regis faced the Crystal, shoving away his surprise. For years he'd waited for this moment. The moment the gods would think him worthy of their divine guidance, where they would tell him of a way to keep Niflheim permanently at bay. The Crystal, his kingdom—all of it would be safe.

"You cannot," they said.

Regis blinked. It took all his composure not to respond with 'what'.

"The Crystal can only be kept safe by one. Noctis Lucis Caelum."

Still, Regis didn't understand. Of course Noctis was to keep the Crystal safe. It was his sacred duty as a Caelum.

"The True King, the King of Kings, the King of Light," they went on.

And with a sudden and terrible awareness, Regis understood. He heard of the prophecy surrounding the Chosen King, knew that such a being would appear one day, but for it to be his own son…

"He will be our vessel, a conduit for our power, and he will dispel the darkness from Eos. So it is ordained, and so it shall be."

Regis closed his eyes. His heart was heavy. _Oh, Aulea, I'm so sorry._

She would have never wanted this for Noctis.

"This world is not one of darkness," Regis couldn't help but say. A feeble protest. The sun still rose. Sylva still kept the Starscourge at bay.

"Not yet," they rumbled from deep within the Crystal. "In time, darkness will extinguish all the light from the world, and only the True King shall bring it back."

It was a hard thing to imagine. When would it happen? Ten years from now? Twenty? Would he be around to see the sun's light vanish? To see daemons pour over the land? What would become of Insomnia?

"With the ascension of the True King, the world will be cleansed forevermore. All daemons will be purged by his light, magic in all forms will cease to be, and the Caelum line will end."

It was like a physical blow. Regis took a step back. Noctis—he would die. He would bring light back to the world, but at the cost of his own life. And Arcturus—

"What of Arcturus?" he asked in a panicked shout. For a moment he forgot he was speaking to the old gods. He forgot it was his duty to secure the future. He was only a man, hearing that the two people he loved most were destined to die.

The gods did not tell him.

"Answer me!"

The Crystal seemed to glow a little brighter. "Do not make demands of gods, mortal." There was a warning in their voice. Likely the only one he would get.

Regis fought to compose himself. His boys—Aulea's sons—would not live to inherit the throne. He choked on his sorrow. "I will take their place," he offered. "It is my duty to ensure the future, and the only way to do that is to ensure that of my sons."

"You cannot," they declared. "You will not live to see the endless dark."

Perhaps if he were a weaker man, he would have collapsed right then and there. As it was, Regis only swallowed hard. "When will I meet my end?" How long did he have left with his boys? A few scant years? A decade?

The gods seemed to consider his request. "At the hands of a long-fought enemy," they finally said.

Niflheim. If Iedolas were the one to kill him, it meant that the New Wall would fall, no matter how much of his life he lost to keep it up. Regis' shoulders drooped. He felt despair and resignation in equal measure.

He thought to ask them of the year, the day, the hour it would happen, but if they were going to tell him, they would've already. Regis clenched his fist, running his thumb over the Ring of Lucii. He supposed he knew when it would happen. It would be when the New Wall took away his ability to fight, sapped him of his magic until he was a husk of his former self.

Only then would Niflheim be strong enough to break him.

He still had a few years, yet. _I will not make it easy for you, Iedolas._

Regis paused. Is that where Arcturus died?

Any thought of bolstering Insomnia's defenses came to a screeching halt. He looked at the Crystal, the doorway to the Astrals, and then looked away. He desperately wanted to know what fate awaited his son but knew the gods wouldn't be more willing to answer him a second time.

_I'm sorry, Arcturus._

"To the best of my ability, I will prepare Noctis for his destiny," Regis said. "You have my word."

After a moment, the Crystal's glow faded, and Regis was left alone with his thoughts and a terrible weight on his shoulders.


	3. Soul of the Star - Part 3

Somehow, it fell on Noct to teach Arc how to use magic.

"Lightning!" he shouted, then threw out a hand. He waited for his brother to throw up a magical shield, like he was supposed to, but instead Arc continued spinning a short staff above his head and making airship noises.

Noct waited another second in case he chose to roll out of the way instead. He did not.

"Fire! Pwoosh!" he yelled, pushing his hand forward. The sound was for authenticity.

Arc twisted the staff so it was spinning in his direction. "Pwoosh!" he said back.

Noct held out both hands, his palms facing out, and pretended to catch the imaginary fire. He took a step back from the force of it, grunting as he struggled to hold his ground.

"Pwoosh!" Arc shouted ruthlessly. "Pwoosh, pwoosh!"

Seeing the incoming volley of fireballs, Noct abandoned the effort of holding them back and threw himself to the side, rolling out of the way of the explosion. He landed in a crouch and shot forward.

"Pzzt!"

Noct rolled again, just as lightning shot over his head. Arc took a step back and pointed the staff at him. "Sksksksk." Ice shot out from the staff in a wave. It surged along the floor and up the walls, leaving everything in its wake frozen solid.

Noct hopped back before it reached him. "Pwoooosh!" he shouted. In an instant, he was enveloped in fire. He threw out his arms, melting everything in his path.

"Sksksksk!" Arc yelled, tightening his grip on his staff.

"Pwoosh!" Noct shouted back. He ran at his brother, shooting fire every time he tried to summon ice.

"Pzzt!"

Noct dodged it and reached out to grab Arc's arm. Before he could, Arc slammed the staff down, and Noct flailed backwards with a cry as he bounced off a shield.

Arc smiled at him. Then he lifted the staff and took aim. "Pzzt!"

Noct threw both hands straight up, summoning a shield of his own.

Arc tilted his head. "Pzzzzt," he said with more force, thrusting the staff menacingly at him.

Noct rolled as lightning tore a hole through his shield. He barely stopped before he was forced to dodge another lightning attack.

"Pzzt!" his brother yelled in glee, following his moves with his staff. "Pzzt!"

Noct rolled until he was out of breath. Still, Arc didn't relent.

"Pzzt!"

"Sksksksk," Noct desperately shouted. A wall of ice formed in front of him, only to be immediately blown to pieces. Noct shielded his face against the shrapnel. When he lowered his arm, Arc was standing beside him, staff pointed at his chest.

"Mercy?" Noct asked hastily.

"Why should I?"

"Because PWOO—"

"Pzzt," Arc interrupted him, shoving the staff into his chest.

Noct gasped and jerked, shaking his whole body, then went still.

Behind them, Ignis cleared his throat. He stood against the wall next to the door, hands folded behind his back. "Prince Noctis, don't you think this is enough?" he asked. "You're supposed to be training, not playing."

Noct tilted his head back. "You're no fun."

Iggy's shoulders rose and he looked away. "I'm only looking out for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Noct said. "But I'm too tired right now. I'd rather take a nap."

"I'm not tired," Arc informed him.

"'Course not. You're _five,_ " he stressed. "You have more energy."

"Really?" Arc asked, plopping down beside him.

"Yeah."

"Hm. Is that true, Ignis?"

"No," Iggy sniffed. "The Crown Prince is just extraordinarily lazy."

"Hey! You're supposed to be on my side1" Noct said, turning to glare at him.

"I'm no fun, remember?"

Noct stared at him for a few more seconds, then shook his head. "Whatever. Wake me up when it's time to eat," he told Arc. "If Iggy wants us to train so bad, he can train you himself."

"Can you?" Arc asked, looking up.

"I don't think that would be appropriate…"

Noct closed his eyes. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the Prince, now would you, Iggy?"

Iggy paused, then sighed. "I suppose not."

Noct smiled.

x

* * *

x

Arcturus had never seen a firefly before.

He stared at the cloud of lights above him in awe. There were dozens—no hundreds—of them hovering around and within the trees. The biggest cluster was near a small tree with thick, bushy leaves. He and Noctis sat under it, watching them.

Noct reached for one, but it slipped through his fingers. "Man, I wish I brought a bottle."

Arc tilted his head back. It looked like the tree was filled with twinkling green-yellow lights.

"Aren't you glad you came with me?" Noct asked.

Arc nodded. "I am! Thanks, Noct."

He'd been scared at first about coming out at night, but he was glad he did. Arc pushed himself up and ran around the field, laughing as he tried to catch fireflies with his bare hands.

In the end, when he eventually fell asleep against Noct, he wished he brought a bottle, too.

When he woke later, it was to a loud, earth-shattering _bang._

His eyes shot open. He was back in the car. The leather seats were smooth and familiar under his fingers and it smelled faintly like lemon, like it always did. He rubbed his eyes and settled back against Noct. Before he could close them again, giant swords crashed through the front passenger-side window. Blood splattered the backseat.

The driver made a choked, gasping sound and then went quiet. Arc's eyes widened. He watched his head loll to the side, eyes glazed in eternal shock. Arc felt something wet and slowly, he looked down. His hands shook. Long streaks of blood dribbled down each arm. His vision blurred.

_Why? Whywhywhy-_

"Prince Noctis! Prince Arcturus! Come, quick!"

A hand grabbed his sleeve.

Arc turned his head. Noct was yanking him out of the car. Their nanny held Noct's other hand, facing away from him, starting to run. His brother's eyes were terrified, but his grip was firm. Arc felt his feet moving of their own volition, though his mind was still back in the car, looking at the blood splatters.

He looked back and—he wanted to yell, to scream, but he couldn't make a sound. It was a daemon with more arms than he could count. There was a flash of silver, the bending and tearing of metal, and then the car exploded.

Arc covered his ear to dampen the sound, flinching away from the wave of heat and smoke. Red-orange light danced in his eyes, but he couldn't look away from the daemon. He saw the exact moment the daemon found him, and felt so, so _small_ under its gaze.

Tears filled Arc's eyes when it raised its blades, and he saw the body of the driver reflected at him from a dozen different angles.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his dad.

He stumbled behind his brother, trying hard to keep up, but he just couldn't. He was small, and his legs hurt from running around earlier.

The daemon screeched at them and swung all its blades at once.

And Arc screamed, because he didn't want to die.

Arms wrapped tightly around him, knocking him off balance.

_Noct...?_

Over his brother's shoulder, he saw an aura of a thousand tiny blue crystals surrounding them. The first sword moved towards them in slow motion, and then they were somewhere else. A brief feeling of weightlessness, of being someplace dark but filled with an energy that was oddly familiar to him.

Then they were back, and Arc hit the ground with his brother on top of him. Noct was too heavy and squeezing him too hard, but neither detail seemed significant as their nanny fell away from them, cut neatly in half. Her torso went to the left, while her legs went to the right.

Arc turned his head as much as he could and vomited.

And then Noct screamed in agony, muffled by his shoulder. It scared him almost as much as the daemon. Arc wanted to ask what was wrong, but the daemon was facing them again, attracted by the noise.

Noct went limp, and Arc could barely breathe.

He was stuck under his brother, and he didn't know how to use magic. He sniffled, desperately trying to stifle the noise as the daemon tilted its head at them. Arc realized the daemon didn't know if they were alive. It knew they were, in that brief eternity of Noct's scream, but his brother's body obscured any move he had. And—his injury must be bad.

Arc felt a brief thread of hope. Maybe if it thought they were dead it would go away and leave them alone.

It withered when the daemon growled and sniffed the air around them.

 _Help me_.

The daemon, smelling that they were alive, raised its swords.

_Someone please help me!_

But he was alone. Noct had already saved him, and he'd gotten hurt for it. Arc looked at him. Noct, face knit tightly in pain, covered in sweat, his breathing coming out in short, shallow gasps. Time moved slower again, and, slowly, that blue aura from before began to form around him, like so many little slivers of glass fitting together.

Arc was terrified of the daemon, but he was even more scared of watching his brother die.

He pulled on a deep, ancient part of himself he'd barely begun to grasp and he wasn't under Noct anymore. His stomach lurched as he traveled through that dark space of old magic, but didn't fall when he came out the other side, standing in front of his brother, panting, arms held out.

Noct was too heavy to take with him. Tears painted lines down his cheeks. But he could try to protect him the same way Noct tried to protect him.

A dozen astral weapons clashed with the swords before they could hit their mark, pushing the daemon back.

Arc's head jerked up.

_Dad._

He was standing off to the side, a hand up, and his expression was furious.

Arc dropped to his hands and knees and wept, forehead to the dirt. His chest heaved as he sobbed, fingers digging into the dirt. All the terror and relief he felt came pouring out. He barely heard the angry roars of the daemon and his dad yelling right back at it.

Eventually, he heard footsteps approach. He didn't move. He couldn't stop crying. A hand touched his shoulder and he screamed and jerked back, kicking and pushing against the grass.

"Arcturus," his father soothed, crouched next to where he'd been.

It took a few seconds for the voice to register, longer for Arc to convince himself it wasn't a daemon. He wiped his nose and eyes, hiccupping.

His father inched closer, hands slowly reaching, but he leaned away and shook his head.

There was pain in his father's eyes, but he stood and moved around him, to Noct. Arc turned. There were more people surrounding them with flashlights. _Crownsguard._

The lower half of Noct's body was covered in blood. He'd dodged the daemon strike, but not completely. His left legs had been sliced around the back of his knee, and his right ankle was twisted at an odd angle, bone and muscle visible—

Arc threw up again and collapsed.

* * *

x

**The Marilith Attack - Noctis POV**

x

* * *

Noct had never seen a daemon before.

As he stared out the backseat window at the daemon that looked like both a woman and a snake, he wished he never had.

It started when the car in front of them exploded. One second, the extra-bright headlights swept out in a wide arc in front of him, keeping the daemons at bay. The next, his car screeched to a halt and a fireball was burned into his memory.

Almost of their own accord, his eyes were drawn to the rearview mirror. He saw the split-second flash of something that looked like a sword, and the car behind them went up in flames as well.

Some part of him, the part that was taught that even in Insomnia he wasn't completely safe, that it would fall to him to uphold the wall and protect his people, that he should stand tall, always, saw the attack for what it was.

 _Niflheim_ , the Prince in him thought. _It's them._

And then a daemon slinked out of the dark and the terrified child in Noct resumed control. He pushed back against his nanny instinctively, disturbing Arc. The driver was talking rapidly into a cell phone.

Noct couldn't take his eyes off the daemon. It was why, as Arc lifted his head, he had the best view as the daemon thrust a sword forward. The passenger side window shattered, flinging glass around the car. He barely noticed the sting on his cheek. The Crownsguard sitting closest to the daemon slumped, and Noct watched his head tumble down his front and hit the floor. Blood fountained from the wound.

The back of the seat stopped Noct from seeing the worst of what happened to the driver, but he didn't hear the wet thump of his head hitting the floor. If he wasn't paralyzed in fear, Noct would've thrown up.

"Prince Noctis! Prince Arcturus! Come quick!"

Yes, that was him, wasn't it? He was Prince Noctis. There was blood on his cheek.

The car door was open. His hand was grabbed, and he was pulled hard. Dimly, he realized that though his nanny called them both, she didn't try to grab his brother. He was almost out of the car and Arc was sitting there, staring up at the daemon.

His nanny was the one to carry Arc back to the car after he got tired trying to catch fireflies, but now she was abandoning him.

Noct's hand shot out without conscious thought and he got a firm grip on Arc's sleeve. He dragged Arc out of the car. Noct kept his eyes on Arc instead of the daemon. As they ran, there were only two things he could focus on. The head falling, playing on loop in his head.

And Arcturus, whom he promised to cherish, always.

"This way," his nanny gasped. "Hurry, hurry!"

Noct let himself look at the daemon. It took half an instant to register that its many arms were pulled back, a second, perhaps two, away from swinging. Arc, who was holding onto him and not his nanny, was the farthest back. He would take the brunt of the swing.

The head fell again, but this time his brother's green eyes were staring sightlessly up at him.

In the next instant, with a howl of rage, the daemon swung.

Noct let go of his nanny. He did it without thinking. He knew, deep inside his soul, that they would all die if he didn't. His mind went blank as he lunged at Arc. The sword, too fast for him to keep up with before, sailed in slow motion. It would've cut his brother in half.

They fell together, with Noct holding Arc as tightly hard as he could, eyes squeezed shut.

Hitting the ground knocked the wind out of him, but _his legs._ The pain was abrupt and incomprehensible, and a sound tore itself out of his throat. A scream that tore his vocal cords apart, that encapsulated the few seconds he spent in completely _agony_ before a red haze clouded his mind and he finally passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by Shelter by Porter Robinson.


	4. Soul of the Star - Part 4

Regis pushed open the door to Noctis' quarters, but didn't go in. He couldn't bear to.

Already, he had failed the gods.

The best surgeons in Insomnia had been summoned to the Citadel at once, and they did all they could to repair the damage to his left leg and reattach his right. Still, it wasn't enough. His left leg was salvaged. Perhaps Noctis would have been able to walk on it with an aid of some sort. But his right leg would be all but useless to him. The damage was too severe, they said. It was a divine blessing that they had been able to save the leg at all.

Arcturus slept on the bed beside him. A few attendants made an attempt to remove him so they could tend properly to Noctis, but he cried and shook at their touch. They tried to convince him with words, but he wouldn't speak. He hadn't spoken a word since Regis found him, with that awful haunted look in his eyes.

"You are not at fault," Clarus assured him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Regis hummed noncommittally. Whose fault was it then that he decided not to ride with his sons? Perhaps it _was_ safer for all the royals not to be in one car together, but he would rather it have been him than his sons. Was it someone else, who _insisted,_ like a fool, he stay back to prepare for next year's gathering of fireflies?

It was tradition for Insomnia's youth to gather and watch the migrating fireflies. Or, it had been a long time ago, before the Starscourge ravaged Eos.

His ancestors used to throw festivals to celebrate the occasion, as a large gathering of fireflies was thought to indicate a plentiful harvest. Then, when daemons first claimed the night for themselves, the festivals stopped. It became something for the youth to do. Now, rarely did the youth opt to risk their lives for an old tradition.

It was mainly the younger Kingsglaive who snuck away to watch, if only because they were one of few who could return alive.

Noctis hadn't asked to go last year, or the year before. In fact, he seemed entirely disinterested in the old tradition, until he asked to go two nights before.

Regis should've said no. Instead, he was struck with the memory of when he went to watch the fireflies gather for the first time with Aulea. It was when he came back from the war, but before his father died.

He said yes out of his own sentimentality. His night was spent scrambling to secure enough cars with daemon-repelling lights to make the trip, rearranging schedules to spare enough Crownsguard, and bickering with Cor about the whole thing,

The hassle had seemed worth it only a few hours before when he watched Noctis' eyes light up. Arcturus never had a bigger smile. How long had it been since he spared time for his own children?

Now though, Regis couldn't forgive himself for allowing it. He turned away from the room and let the door shut. "Have we found where the Marilith came from?" he asked, directing his gaze at Cor.

'The Immortal' stood back against the wall. Present, but not in the way. Cor looked at him but said nothing at all. It was because he knew. They all knew. Niflheim. Iedolas Aldercapt.

Wasn't it Iedolas who was responsible for everything that ever went wrong in his life?

Regis turned his mind away from the Marilith. Noctis could not be the True King if he was crippled. He walked down the hallway, his two closest friends behind him. It had been a long time since he called on Sylva.

"Have the servants prepare Noctis for a trip to Tenebrae," Regis said.

"I'll see it done," Cor replied, breaking away from them. Regis watched him leave. Cor, in the end, turned out to be right to try and convince him not to go.

"I would have done the same as you if our positions were reversed," Clarus said at his back.

That did not make him feel any better.

Perhaps Noctis' injuries were beyond Sylva, but he still had to try.

x

* * *

x

Up until warmth and light blossomed from her palm, Sylva didn't know she could heal the broken King of Light. She sat at the edge of the bed, one hand cupping his cheek, the other pressed against his chest.

Upon arriving in Tenebrae, Sylva had her servants take the King of Kings to one of the empty rooms upstairs while she conversed with Regis and her darling Lunafreya tried to chat with Arcturus. The boy looked at everything with wide, terrified eyes and stuck close to his father, never saying a word in return.

It was to be expected, considering what he'd gone through.

Because Sylva liked Regis, she allowed him to wait outside in the hall while she had a private audience with the King of Kings. Before Noctis, Sylva had only ever been able to heal those affected by the Starscourge. The True King twisted in her grip, shuddering and trying to turn his face away from her light as it spread under his skin and down to his injury.

"This is not how you are meant to be," Sylva said gently.

This new type of healing wasn't unexpected. The prophecy was set in stone, long before she came to be. Noctis would've been healed, one way or another.

Noctis had been asleep when he arrived and slept for most of the journey to Tenebrae. He had to be sedated, Regis told her, because he was in pain every second he was awake. He was half Ravus' age but had been through so much already. She would have preferred he led a peaceful life up until fate called on him to fulfill his destiny.

Healing him this way felt the same as when she communed with the gods, when she channeled their power to seal daemons away. She knew they were here with her, watching, lending her a sliver of their strength.

Sylva bowed her head. "Thank you," she murmured.

Noctis' right leg was in a permanent brace. His left leg was a mess of scars around his knee. His face twisted into a grimace and he shuddered again.

"This will hurt," she warned the True King as her light enveloped his legs.

They glowed brighter than the rest of his body. He writhed, sweat breaking out on his brow.

"I wish I could ease this for you."

It only took a few minutes, but Sylva was weakened and exhausted when she finally pulled away. When the glow started to fade on its own, she knew she'd done enough. Noctis was breathing in short, shallow gasps. His eyes were open, but only the whites of his pupils were showing.

"Rest well, Chosen King," Sylva said.

With one last, lingering glance at him, she stood and went to the door. She would have liked to see how Regis' firstborn turned out in the end. She shook her head, ignoring the pain the thought caused her.

So it was written, and so it shall be.

Sylva smiled when she saw Regis on the other side of the door, hovering close to the frame. His eyes flicked to hers. Arcturus ducked behind him.

"You need not worry," she soothed. "Noctis is not so easy to break."

Regis looked past her, towards the bed. "The scarring—"

"Will heal," she interrupted him. "He can't be moved just yet. I've done all I can, and his body must do the rest. He may appear unwell, but you must give it time, Regis. A week, at least. Trust me."

Regis' shoulders drooped, and Sylva watched relief take the place of guilt. It was unbecoming of a King to show his emotions so easily, but she would let it go, just this once. "May I see him?"

"You may," she said, slightly amused that he was asking at all. Sylva stepped out of the way and Regis slipped past her. As Arcturus made to follow, she blocked the way.

The gods never spoke of Regis' second son. He fell into the shadows, outshined by his older brother. Perhaps it was her own fantasy that the gods would care so much. Maybe the simple truth was that Arcturus wasn't meant to live long at all.

As the gods knew her heart, they might've also known she wouldn't be able to keep that from Regis.

"Let me have a moment of your time, Arcturus. I'll be quick."

He was suspicious even before she reached out to touch him. He jerked back, and she knew by the look in his eyes that his mind had reeled back to the attack. His eyes filled with tears. Sylva caught his shoulder before he could run, and he went ramrod stiff.

She cupped his cheeks before he inevitably screamed. "Be calm," she soothed. Sylva summoned the last bits of healing the gods left her with and pushed the power into Arcturus.

He quieted, his eyes glazing over. He had such pretty eyes.

There wasn't much left but if it healed him just a little, she would be happy. "Consider this an apology," she whispered on behalf of the gods.

x

* * *

x

Of all things, Ravus Nox Fleuret was stuck on babysitting duty.

He didn't dislike Arcturus. On the contrary, in fact. He understood why the Prince had been so cold when he arrived. He would probably carry around a bit of trauma too if a daemon had nearly killed him and his sister.

Personally, Ravus thought he could be spending his time better. He did have things to do, as the Crown Prince. But Luna left to watch over Noctis after a quiet breakfast and his mother was discussing something with the King of Insomnia. Something he wasn't, but should've been, privy too.

She'd requested that he look after the Prince in their absence, and she knew he couldn't turn her down when she asked something of him personally.

Disgruntled, but not enough to do anything about it, Ravus sat on his bed, staring out a window at Tenebrae. He could see it all from up here. The lush greenery, the islands connected by bridges. He had one leg pulled up, an arm propped on his knee.

Arcturus sat at his desk, drawing on a dry-erase board with different colored markers. He wasn't sure where his servant found them—he hadn't seen either the board or the markers in years—but as it kept the Prince quiet, he wouldn't question the suspicious object.

"Hey, big brother—"

Ravus' head whipped toward the door. Noctis wasn't supposed to wake for a few days, but that was who he expected to see standing in the doorway. He wasn't there. The door was still closed, in fact.

He blinked when he saw that Arcturus was staring at him.

"—could you help me? I can't draw this circle right."

His brain stumbled. "I'm not your brother," he said. Surely, Arcturus knew that?

"Why not?"

Ravus blinked again. "Because, we are not related."

"So?"

He didn't have an answer for that. It was the infuriating logic of a child.

Arcturus turned back to the desk. "You're taking care of me, just like Noct does. He's my brother, so you're my brother," he concluded.

Ravus, Crown Prince of Tenebrae, struggled to think of a good response. "Is everyone that takes care of you family?" he asked.

"No," he scoffed, like Ravus was the idiot for asking.

Ravus decided to look back out the window.

"Clarus and Cor are my Uncles," Arcturus explained. "Ignis is Noctis' friend, and so is Gladiolous, but they don't take care of me. My nursemaid takes care of me," he said thoughtfully.

He really shouldn't have been surprised that Cor the Immortal was his Uncle.

"I am not a nursemaid," Ravus said firmly.

"Then you're my brother," Arcturus told him with a nod.

Other than to admit he actually _was_ a nursemaid, Ravus wasn't sure how to dispute his argument. "I'm not," he grouched.

"Tell me why," Arcturus said, turning in his chair.

Ravus attempted to think of a good counterargument that Arcturus wouldn't run around in circles. He failed. "Once you leave Tenebrae, I won't take care of you," he tried.

Arcturus gave him a strange look. "You'll still be my brother."

Ravus considered breaking the window and flinging himself out of it. He sighed. "Do you want another brother so bad that you'd take a near-stranger in as family?"

Arcturus tilted his head. "No, but you are."

Deep inside himself Ravus screamed. "What would the Crown Prince think of having me as a brother?"

He looked confused by the question. "You're my brother, not his," he said slowly.

Ravus got the distinct impression that Arcturus, not even half his age, thought he was a complete idiot.

"Your mom is friends with my dad, so it's okay," Arcturus reassured him.

Ravus gave up then. He pushed off his bed and moved to the desk, bending to look at the board. He didn't think when he put a hand on the back of Arcturus' chair, but knew he made a mistake when the Prince jerked away from him.

He pulled his hand away.

"Sorry," Arcturus said, avoiding his gaze.

Ravus shook his head. "You shouldn't be sorry. _I'm_ sorry. That was insensitive of me." He deliberately shifted to stand next to him, where all his limbs were in view. "What did you need help with?" he asked, hoping to draw the conversation away from him being anyone's brother.

Arcturus held the marker out to him. "I can't draw a good circle."

Ravus observed all the attempts on the board. Some were lopsided, while others were the product of an unsteady hand.

"Please help me, big brother."

Ravus closed his eyes for a few seconds. Without a word he took the marker, bent over the desk, and got to work.


	5. Soul of the Star - Part 5

It took twelve days before Noctis woke.

Lunafreya sat at the foot of his bed, Pryna curled in her lap. Umbra had wedged himself in the space between Noctis and the wall and fallen asleep on his back. She spent most of her time in this room, looking over her old—new—friend.

It felt like she'd always known Noctis. Did they meet before, outside of the dreams of the future Pryna liked to show her? They must've, but she didn't know. She didn't remember much of her childhood. The important bits were still there. Her kingdom, her family, her duty, but the smaller details had been replaced by the prophecy and Noctis' fate. There was only so much room in her head.

Lunafreya didn't have the power of an Oracle, but she had the intuition of one. Her mind was stronger than most future Oracles' had been at her age, making it easier for her to commune with the Astrals and their messengers. It was why Gentiana had gifted her with Pryna and Umbra. Another sign that she was divinely blessed.

She was only twelve, but she felt much, much older. Pryna lifted her head and Lunafreya watched Noctis groan, his eyes fluttering open.

"I'm glad you're finally awake, Prince Noctis," Lunafreya said.

Noctis' brow furrowed and it took a few seconds before he focused on her. He jerked up in bed, eyes flitting around his unfamiliar surroundings, at Umbra, then finally at her. He squinted. "Luna?" he asked.

So, they did meet before. That made her happy.

"Where...?" He trailed off with a sudden wince, clutching his head.

Lunafreya picked up Pryna and climbed up on the bed so she was sitting beside him. "You're in Tenebrae," she said gently. "You were hurt, and your father brought you here to be healed."

Noctis grimaced, shuddering. He ducked his head. "I don't want to talk about it," he snapped.

Lunafreya paused. "I'm sorry."

He covered his face with his hands. "I just..." he trailed off. "I don't want to think about it right now, okay?"

"I'm happy you remember me," Lunafreya told him.

"Pictures," he breathed, shaking his head hard. "Queen Sylva sent a lot of pictures to dad."

Her eyes widened. They hadn't met before.

Umbra twitched, flopping against Noctis' side. He peeked through his fingers.

It saddened her to see him like this. She wanted to take his hand in hers and let him know that everything was okay, but knew he would only reject her comfort. He didn't want it, at least, not comfort from her.

"Arcturus wasn't hurt," Lunafreya said. She hoped that hearing that his brother was okay would make him feel better.

Noctis peeked at her. It took a few seconds for the blankness in his eyes to melt into realization. Fear and panic followed, soothed by relief. He nodded. "He's here?" he croaked.

"Yes, my older brother, Ravus, is taking care of him. Do you want me to get him?"

He tensed at that, shoulders rising like a wall between them. "No, not yet. Don't get anyone."

Lunafreya didn't know what to do with this version of Noctis. She'd seen a single version of him for her entire life—the Noctis who would face his destiny head on, the one that had stepped fully into his role as the King of Kings. But this wasn't him, at least not right now. He was a scared, traumatized child, something Lunafreya didn't think she'd ever been.

She thought of herself as a friend to someone who didn't exist yet.

Noctis dropped his hands. Tentatively, he reached out to Umbra. His hand shook. "He won't bite, will he?"

"I promise you he won't."

Slowly, Noctis patted his fur. Umbra awoke in an instant but didn't move. Noctis' expression crumpled. He pulled Umbra to his chest and curled on his side, crying into his fur.

Lunafreya closed her eyes. "You are much more than this," she said softly. "You're going to save the whole world one day. The Astrals told me so. No matter how you might feel now, remember that you are and always will be a hero, Noctis."

"I'm not," Noctis murmured into Umbra's fur.

Lunafreya smiled at him. "Maybe you're not a hero to everyone right now," she admitted. "But you've always been a hero to me."

Noctis lifted his head to stare at her. She grinned.

He averted his gaze, but his cheeks were tinted pink. He still looked melancholy, but not like before. "By myself?" he mumbled.

"By...?"

"The world," he clarified. "I have to save it by myself?"

 _Yes._ In the end, Noctis would face his destiny alone. "No," Lunafreya lied, because it was what he needed to hear. "You have a Shield, right? He wouldn't let you do it alone."

Noctis smiled a little. It was thin and shaky, but it was there. "What about my brother?" he asked. "Will he be there?"

Her smile slipped. Arcturus Lucis Caelum. "I don't know," she admitted quietly. Lunafreya didn't like to think about him. If his destiny intertwined with Noctis', wouldn't she have seen him in the future by now?

Noctis' brow furrowed. Umbra whined, and Noctis scratched his belly to appease him. "What does that mean?"

"Pryna doesn't show me everything," Lunafreya answered. It was the truth, but not what he asked.

Noctis looked at the dog in her lap. He nodded. "Arc will be there to help me. I know he will."

Lunafreya didn't say anything at all. She scooped Pryna up in her arms and stood.

"Luna, wait!"

She turned, taken aback by the panic in his eyes. Noctis squeezed Umbra, burying his face back in his fur. "Don't go. Please."

"I won't," she promised.

x

* * *

x

It was supposed to be a good day.

Two days and Noctis would be well enough to return to Insomnia. Regis shook the hand of Tenebrae's military commander, just as he heard a blade unsheathe behind him.

Sylva had organized a grand welcome for him in the manor's garden. On all official reports, Regis and his retinue had arrived in Tenebrae the day before. Unofficially, they were there for thirteen days. The welcome served both to show the strength of their alliance and to show off Tenebrae's military might. To their enemies it would say that they were united, that neither land would bow to Niflheim so easily.

Regis whirled. A man in liquid metal armor stood behind Sylva, his sword raised above his head. She had a hand raised, as if to ward off the attack. Before Regis could think to intervene, the sword came down. It sliced through her arm and carved a deadly line down her front.

The garden erupted into chaos. Unarmed officials fled. The soldiers moved into action, converging on Sylva's killer. The hum of an airship hailed the arrival of Niflheim's infamous magitek troops.

Regis saw Noctis in the middle of the garden, between Sylva and himself. He leaned heavily against Luna, an arm around her shoulders. Her arm supported him around the waist. He was looking at something behind him—

It was with dawning horror that Regis remembered that Arcturus had been left in the care of the Crown Prince of Tenebrae. Ravus had been standing next to his mother. He wasn't there now. Where—Where—?

A Tenebrae soldier had Ravus by the arm, attempting to take the Prince to safety. He held Arcturus with the other arm.

Noctis first. Regis took off at a run, Clarus at his heels. Noctis broke away from Luna and fell, a hand outstretched towards his brother. A second ship appeared next to the first. Sylva's killer was single-handedly slaughtering Tenebrae's military.

Regis scooped Noctis up as Clarus shouted orders at the Lucian soldiers standing guard. They were a puddle compared to the flood of magitek's marching towards them.

"Arc!" Noct cried. "We have to get Arc!"

The soldier with Ravus fell, a sword through her stomach. The back of the garden burst into sudden, towering flames, forcing both the soldiers and the officials to flee forward.

 _Noctis_ , Regis thought. He couldn't let them have Noctis. There would be no future if he didn't do everything in his power to ensure his safety. He couldn't use his magic. This far from the Wall, it took all his energy to maintain it. If he used even a little to defend himself, he was sure a hole would appear.

There was a terrible, awful moment where he thought to leave Arcturus to Niflheim. Was this it? Was this where his youngest son was meant to die? Following the thought, he felt the white-hot burn of shame.

What would Aulea say if she could read his thoughts?

Regis knew the answer. She would despise him and he would deserve it.

Clarus was at his side, ready to support and defend him no matter what he chose to do. Damn his soul by keeping to the promise he made with the Astrals or save his youngest son? What kind of man had he become to consider the former at all?

Lunafreya was looking at him. Ravus was looking at him. He could save one or the other, but he couldn't save both. If he took Lunafreya, Clarus would be left to defend his back. His Shield would choose to protect him over rescuing Ravus. There would be no saving Arcturus then.

Regis shoved Noctis into Clarus' arms. Both protested, but he wasn't listening.

Clarus, for all his capabilities, was only one man. He could not command the remaining Lucian forces, protect two children—one he couldn't put down, and defend himself while he waited. Clarus would stay on the fringes of battle, avoiding conflict as much as he could, but Regis knew Clarus wouldn't leave until he saw him alive with his own eyes. Clarus would be a target, and he most certainly would have to fight.

Regis knew exactly how it would play out if he warped. Clarus would leave Lunafreya—perhaps thinking there would still be time to come back for her, perhaps making the same impossible choice to save Noctis above all else—and he would retreat. Tenebrae's military was all but dead. The Lucian soldiers would provide them time, but that was all. They were all too busy fighting for their lives to take Lunafreya to safety.

He warped anyway.

Niflheim wouldn't kill her. She was far too valuable for that. It was a small solace as he appeared in the middle of the chaos. It reminded him far too much of the Great War. He felt the strain immediately as his magic was torn between holding up the wall and being used for himself.

He gripped an astral sword with only a thought and cut down a magitek trooper wrestling Ravus to the ground. The Ring of Lucii felt uncomfortably warm. He stepped around the Crown Prince of Tenebrae and over the dead littering the ground.

Arcturus was standing, hands over his eyes. Regis heard it the moment the troops fighting the remaining Lucians registered he was near as dozens of metal boots turned at once. A group of them were immediately sliced apart for turning their backs to their Lucian opponents, but that didn't put a dent in the tide.

Regis threw up a hand and lightning blasted through a group of them. It opened a path, but magitek's fell and tumbled over each other to fill it. Pain flared in his middle and he felt something twist—ripping like a sheet of paper. The Wall.

He thought of Aulea. Regis swept his other hand out in the opposite direction, covering everything around him in ice. He was breathing hard now, but he would not abandon his son.

Ravus was talking to him, he thought. He couldn't hear anything past the buzzing in his ears. Switching from ice to lightning in an instant, Regis blasted a path through the frozen soldiers.

Some were twitching and shaking, struggling to stand after the onslaught. Regis summoned fire, holding the magitek's back on his other side as Ravus grabbed Arcturus and ran through the opening he created. Regis' vision swam, but he would not falter, not now. He took a step back and dropped his hands. The soldiers behind him were shoving the charred corpses of their comrades aside, but it would take time. A few seconds. It would have to be enough.

The ice was melting. Regis headed after Ravus. Frozen heads turned to follow him. He heard them behind him—cracking free of their bonds, charging after him. He didn't turn around. He had the magic left for perhaps a single attack. More and the Wall would crumble completely.

 _Forward,_ he urged himself. _My duty does not end here._

He saw a shadow in the grass. It was sudden and large, directly above him. Regis looked up. The liquid metal trooper was mid-leap, sword held high. It his battle-honed instincts that saved his life. Lightning crackled against the trooper's chest plate and sent him flying backwards.

To his left, two troopers were yanking Lunafreya's arms behind her back. Regis looked away and didn't look again.

Later, when his knees buckled upon entering the airship Clarus forcibly commandeered, Regis would wonder if Sylva's grand welcome had actually been a grand goodbye.


	6. Soul of the Star - Part 6

Gladio tapped a wooden practice sword against his shoulder, blankly watching Noctis dart around the room shooting imaginary lightning bolts at his brother. He even imitated the buzz of electricity. His gaze slid to Arcturus, who slammed his staff down in front of him in retaliation, his small hands shaking.

Was that supposed to mimic making a shield?

Gladio honestly did not know how Ignis did it. His friend stood with his back against the wall closest to the door, hands folded behind him. If it wasn't for his eyes moving, Gladio might have mistaken him for a suit of armor, or maybe one of the weapon racks.

"Is it always like this?" he asked, hooking a thumb at the two going at it behind him. He was the tallest by several inches, which made it especially satisfying to look down at someone—like, say, two bratty Princes.

It started with Gladio's valiant attempt to teach the Crown Prince how to properly hold a sword. Noctis outright refused, with the excuse that he wasn't in the mood. When asked why he bothered coming to train in the first place, Noctis told him he didn't have a choice.

Before Gladio could escalate the situation, Acturus, from the sidelines, made a strange noise and shoved his hands at Noctis. Noctis ignored him at first, but Arcturus kept at it. Gladio, bewildered, watched the noises and hand motions crack Noctis' shell, and then the bratty Prince actually _smiled._

And now the two were darting around each other like it was a real battle.

"Not lately," Ignis admitted quietly. "Noct was different when he came back, and this is the first time Arc joined his training sessions since they left."

Gladio's shoulders bunched. He closed his eyes. He didn't like being reminded of the daemon that attacked Noctis. He wasn't old enough to be Noctis' Shield, not officially anyway, but that didn't stop the feeling of failure from nagging at him, twisting his stomach into knots like a meal that didn't agree with him.

He should've been there.

His father told him over and over that there was nothing he could've done, but none of that would've meant anything if Noctis died. He was Noctis' Shield. That was who he _was._ Yet, when Noctis needed him, he wasn't there.

He could've done something. Gladio didn't know what, but he was certain that night would have gone differently if he had been there. He could've bought Noctis more time, or blocked the swords, or... or...

Something. Anything.

"Tsk."

And it happened _again_ in Tenebrae. Being the unofficial Shield of the King, Gladio wasn't allowed to go. He protested, offered up every excuse he could think of to get his father to let him make the trip, but he wouldn't budge. Gladio had been stuck in Insomnia while Noctis was attacked in Tenebrae.

And after all that, Noctis still wasn't taking this seriously. Gladio ground his teeth. "Enough," he said loudly. "This isn't a game. What I'm teaching you is important. It'll keep you alive."

Both Noctis and Arcturus ignored him.

The sword cracked in Gladio's hand, bits of wood and splinters digging into his palm. Gladio strode over to Arcturus and, before the younger boy could react, ripped the staff out of his hands and broke it in two over his knee. He threw both pieces behind him.

"When it's your turn, I'll call for you. Until then, don't move," Gladio said, glaring down at him. He didn't hate Arcturus like he used to, but he still didn't like him.

Arcturus' shoulders hunched. He looked away. "I was just—"

Gladio's head abruptly snapped forward. It took a moment before he registered the dull ache at the base of his skull, the clatter as something hollow hit the ground beside him.

He spun, forgetting Arcturus as he took in Noctis standing a few feet behind him. The Crown Prince tossed the other half of the staff up and down lazily in his hand, staring back at him. Gladio didn't need to look to know what hit him. He tossed aside the practice sword and strode towards the bratty Prince.

Before he could reach Noctis, Ignis broke away from the wall and grabbed the Prince's arm. "Apologize," he said quickly. "He was right. You haven't been taking this as seriously as you should."

Noctis scowled, shaking him off without looking. Ignis took a surprised step back. "You can yell at me all you want, Gladio, but leave Arc alone."

"That's what this is about?" Gladio asked, narrowing his eyes. "Neither of you are acting like leaders," he shot back. "Do you think a King can play and sleep all day? That you can keep putting this off and depend on me to make up for your weakness?"

Noctis gritted his teeth. He threw the staff on the ground and strode towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I told you," he said slowly. "I don't feel like doing this."

"Have you been listening to _anything_ I said?"

"Arc, come on. I'm hungry. Let's go find a snack," Noctis said, ignoring him.

Gladio turned. Arcturus was where he left him, eyes wide. He, at least, looked a little sorry as he joined Noctis at the door. Gladio shook his head as Noctis left the room. "That brat," he grumbled, kicking half the staff into a corner.

Ignis sighed. "You're at fault here too, Gladio."

"You disagree with me?" Gladio asked, baffled.

"No," Ignis said patiently. "I agree with you, but not how you handled it."

Gladio crossed his arms. "Everyone around here is too soft on him," he said. "That's why he's like this. He doesn't get what his position means at all."

"Or," Ignis countered, sitting back against the wall. "He's still recovering from what happened in Tenebrae."

Tenebrae. It still stung. "So what? I'm supposed to wait for months or years until he's ready? His duties won't go on hold until he gets better."

Ignis shook his head. "You're still wrong," he said.

x

* * *

x

Ravus Nox Fleuret was alone.

He leaned forward until his forehead was against the glass, peering down at the city streets far below him. He sat on a bed—bigger than he was used to, not quite as hard as the ones back in Tenebrae—he'd pushed up against the wall. He chose this room for the window. It bore the closest resemblance to the one he used to have in his room in Fenestala Manor. Long enough that, if the glass wasn't reinforced, he could climb out while barely having to duck. It had a black frame instead of white and was tinted instead of clear, but he was happy for those differences.

Most of the time, he hated this room. He hated that he could only see a narrow view of a corner of the city, rather than the view he had of all of Tenebrae. He hated that it reminded him of home. He hated how different it was. He hated the bed being under the window. He hated when it wasn't there. He hated Niflheim. He hated his mother, just a little.

He even hated King Regis when his mood was particularly awful. If Arcturus hadn't been with him, would the King have bothered to save him at all?

He sighed deeply.

It had been two weeks since the Fall of Tenebrae. The Lucians liked to call it that. As if it wasn't a place anymore, just because it fell under the Empire's control. He supposed they were right, in a way. Niflheim had burned the gardens, set fire to the Manor, destroyed what made Tenebrae, _Tenebrae._

It still felt like it just happened. Like he was in Tenebrae only the day before, explaining the difference between a sylleblossom and blue carnations to Arcturus, who insisted he'd seen sylleblossoms before in Insomnia. It was supposed to be a quick thing. Ravus, studiously ignoring his label as 'big brother' would attempt to convince the stubborn Prince that he was wrong, and he'd go back and join his father, brother, and Lunafreya.

He'd been holding a sylleblossom when he heard the airship behind him. Ravus didn't hear the ship door open, nor did he hear the liquid metal armor trooper jump out. He only remembered the blood. It had been warm on his face. The sylleblossom between his fingers had blood on its petals.

The solid thud of something landing next to him. His mother's hand, detached from her body. Ravus had looked up then—he remembered, because it was the precise moment that he felt absolute horror for the first time—and saw his mother covered in red. The lack of a hand attached to her shoulder. The magitek—monster—standing over her. The way she crumpled to the grass.

Ravus went somewhere else. His body was still there, moving, carrying out basic tasks, but his mind had fled. He remembered grabbing Arcturus when he boy turned, stopping him from looking at his mother. Covering his eyes. A hand on his arm, pulling, tugging him somewhere. Lunafreya, her pretty white dress stained brown with dirt. The inside of another airship. Insomnia.

He pushed away from the window and stood. He didn't do much anymore. He was—was he still the Crown Prince? Ravus rarely left his room. He'd cried the first few days, cried and cried until he thought that was all he would do for the rest of his life.

But no. He ran out of tears eventually. He felt empty, lost, like he didn't know what to do with himself. What was there for him to do? Where could he go? He was a Prince in name alone. The clothes he'd been wearing that day had to be discarded. His clothes were custom made—tailored specifically to mimic his old attire—but still distinctly Lucian. Black instead of white. Blue accents, a lot simpler.

It was enough to keep him grounded when he thought of his mother.

"Prince Ravus?" His servant—Belea Scientia—asked quietly, like he was a frightened rabbit. Ravus didn't hear the door open.

King Regis had her deliver invitations, requesting that he join the royal family for breakfast, lunch, dinner. He always said no, and she always returned with a plate for him. If it wasn't for her, he would've starved within those first few, dark days.

"You have been asked to appear before the King," she said. "He wishes dearly to speak with you."

Ravus hadn't left his room in two weeks. There were marks on the tile from where he moved the bed, plates that Belea didn't come back for hidden in the closet, pieces of his soul beneath the dresser. He didn't look presentable—he knew that.

"Now?" he asked. His voice was rough from disuse. He quietly cleared his throat.

When was the last time he spoke to anyone? Had he said a single word to Belea in all this time? Her hair was blonde, but several shades darker than his own. He never noticed before.

"Post haste," she answered. She didn't look so much like a servant to him, now that he was paying attention. She held herself more primly, dressed with more sophistication. Did they have levels of servitude in Insomnia?

Ravus didn't know. Save for his education, myths, and politics, he didn't know anything about Insomnia. He didn't know its people, he didn't know the land, and he didn't know the Citadel. And yet, this was where he was expected to live—for how long, the rest of his life? His fists clenched. Was he supposed to be grateful for the room, for the clothes, while his little sister was used and paraded around by Niflheim?

Because his darling sister was the oh-so-important Oracle, they wouldn't harm her. Not physically, at least. But there were other ways to destroy little Luna. Forcing her to ascend before she was ready was one. And why wouldn't Niflheim make full use of someone with the ability to commune with the gods? Especially someone as _gifted_ and _divine_ as his sister.

Bitterness swelled inside of him, deep enough to swallow Eos if he let it.

"Prince Ravus," Belea said in a way that made it clear that she had been trying to get his attention for a long while.

It would've been so easy to snap at her. Ravus thought of the plates in his closet.

Abruptly, he felt exhausted. He sagged. His fingers uncurled. If he had any choice at all, he would have refused King Regis. Though, Ravus suspected the King knew that. He might have been 'asked' to appear before the King, but there was only one answer he could give. The statement itself already implied King Regis was waiting for him.

"We should be on our way if we don't want to be late," Belea added. Her hands were folded in front of her, her gaze strictly on him and not the abysmal state of his room.

Ravus closed his eyes. "If I must," he murmured.


	7. Soul of the Star - Part 7

The last two weeks had not been kind to the Crown Prince of Tenebrae.

Ravus knelt at the bottom of the staircase after being admitted by the crownsguard, neither greeting Regis (as was appropriate), while lowering himself far beyond his status (had Ravus been King, Noctis would bow before him, but never kneel).

He was a prince who no longer viewed himself as one.

His hair was longer, unkempt, and an unsuccessful effort had been made to straighten out curls.

"Rise, Prince Ravus," Clarus said, more wary than he of what the people would think should it escape the room that the Crown Prince of Tenebrae knelt to him like a subject, not a Prince.

Wary of the negativity it would bring to Ravus.

While Regis fended off the Imperial army, the wall tore open above Mors District.

An industrial sector on the outskirts of the city, it was named for his father after he established the first nuclear power plant there. Perhaps desperate for an alternate source of energy to power the wall, or perhaps to lessen their dependance on meteorshards from Duscae, his father had done what many thought impossible.

Ultimately though, no matter how many he built, it would never be enough to power the wall.

The hole remained open for an hour and sixteen minutes, Cor later told him.

His council, officials, and the press all would barrage him with accounts of what happened and questions of how the wall tore, but the result was, as he lay unconscious in an airship, an Imperial airship entered Insomnia.

_The Nifs were just as surprised as we were. Seems they wanted to weaken you more by attacking the wall while you were fighting. Took them too long to regain control of their ship once they were in and by then the Kingsglaive had already taken it down._

Cor had then taken command of the inexperienced Kingsglaive with its leader, Titus Drautos, indisposed and set up a perimeter around the little that remained of Mors district.

While the Kingsglaive made quick work of the magitek troopers aboard, the issue of the ship itself remained. It would not fly without proper authorization, nor would a barcode scanned off the dead grant it.

The options for them, Nyx Ulric would report, were limited.

_The plan was to blow up the ship while it was still airborne. The exterior turned out to be too hard to pierce from the outside, so a few of us were going to stay behind and do it from within. The General called over the radio to stop us. Said it was better to let it fall. Blowing it up would just break it into chunks that would hit all over the city. He was right. But what happened after... it doesn't feel like a win, sire._

Cor made the best call in a situation with no good outcomes. It was likely that, had they stayed on the ship, Nyx and his comrades, adept with his magic but nowhere near mastery, would've been caught in the blast. The damage to the city would be unknowable, the injured uncountable.

Instead, the airship had fallen partially on a power plant and set off explosions within.

Twenty-eight workers were presumed dead.

It was determined that the reactor, deep underground, was largely intact and still functionable (his father's fail-safe's having shut it down immediately), but that was little solace to the families of the dead.

Regis had been unable to tell reporters the truth of his involvement in the Fall of Tenebrae, nor dispute Niflheim's claim that a fire had claimed Sylva's life without divulging Noctis' involvement or, more importantly, why he left the safety of his city when Noctis' injury was unrelated to the starscourge and, to the public's knowledge, Sylva had no power to heal him.

He'd answered in vague, generic statements about the late Oracle asking him to pay her an urgent visit and him not reaching Fenestala Manor in time, knowing it satisfied no one. He left them to speculate his loose implications of Sylva seeing her own death and what it could mean in relation to the statement the Empire put out about the matter.

The families affected by the Mors Incident largely blamed Niflheim, but in their anger and grief, they blamed him and Sylva as well. With Sylva dead, however, their ire fell to her son.

Rarely did grief make sense.

Ravus stood stiffly, fists clenching at his sides, the very picture of someone who didn't want to be standing before a King in rumpled clothes, with eyes far older than his face.

Regis lifted his eyes to the crownsguard at either side of the door, a wordless signal. Raising fists to their chests and dipping their heads, they left the room. Save for Clarus, they were alone.

The Mors Incident would weigh heavily on him, as all his actions did, but perhaps not as heavily as leaving his son in the hands of Niflheim. How could he face himself, let alone Noctis, had he made that terrible choice?

"I owe you a great debt," Regis said. "Far more than I can ever hope to repay, I'm afraid."

Noctis still had scars on his legs. A white line where they reattached his right below the knee, more jagged ones down his left ankle where wounds had been stitched shut.

But that was the extent of his injuries.

The Fleuret family had been broken beyond repair while he left with his sons better than they arrived.

Ravus tsk'ed in response, turning his head in a way that made his hair hide his face.

Regis felt very much like his throne was made of eggshells. He sat on them precariously, unknowing of which words would carry a weight he wasn't aware of and break them all.

"How have you been enjoying your meals, Prince Ravus?" Clarus asked.

Perhaps he did it to turn the conversation to a lighter topic. Perhaps out of genuine concern because they both knew Ravus had been eating very little.

"I wonder," Ravus breathed. "Would the Shield of the King care so for my well-being were I a prisoner of Niflheim and the Princes safe?"

Rarely could grief be reasoned with.

"I would not," Clarus answered. "A Shield never wavers, immovable in the face of what may be fair and right, and what may be unjust and wrong. I wouldn't presume myself above the decisions of the King."

Ravus' shoulders rose and he turned further away.

Much like his son, Clarus was sometimes blunt to a fault. It was useful when dealing with his council (where he largely had to be the neutral party in disagreements), and reminding would-be politicians that he, in fact, was not a freshly made King and had experienced every form of trickery three times over (which he couldn't do himself without it being taken as disrespect).

It was far less useful when a grieving boy stood before them.

Perhaps later, in private, he would attempt (for the thousandth time) to remind his eldest friend of time and place.

Though Regis remained outwardly impassive, he felt his eggshell throne begin to cave in on itself. One wrong word and any chance of a positive relationship between him and Ravus would disappear. It was his burden to never misspeak, to know precisely what the right action was, always.

Rising from his throne, Regis went down to the young prince.

If the council seats were full, eyebrows would raise at him and stares would follow him down. Indeed, should he look to his left, he'd find Clarus' curious gaze.

But Regis could make an exception to protocol for this.

"Niflheim may have taken Tenebrae," he began, halfway down. "They may justify their occupation of the region with excuses of saving it and place as many puppets on the throne as they like, but they have not, neither will, take from you your birthright. Nor should you allow them to."

Up close, Regis saw that Ravus was shaking.

"As long as Insomnia stands, neither Lucis nor any allied with her will recognize any but you as the successor to the Tenebraen throne. You must stand tall, Ravus Nox Fleuret, and carry your head high, for only if you reject your title will Tenebrae truly be lost."

"How kind of you, King Regis," Ravus said quietly, bitterly. Every breath was shaky. "It's unfortunate that you couldn't extend such kindness to my sister."

Lunafreya. Regis would regret the fate he failed to save her from until his final days. It seemed he would fail at much, in the coming years.

"I could not," Regis said. A truth, an admission of weakness, the least he owed to Ravus.

Ravus stared at him. His eyes were red, despite there being no tears on his face.

Regis raised his hand in front of his chest, showing the boy before him the Ring of Lucii. "The burden of the wall is a heavier one to carry than imaginable," he went on. "Had I used any more of my power to rescue young Lunafreya, the wall would be no more. Then there would be no place on Eos safe from the Empire's grasp."

Ravus looked from the ring up to his face, perhaps for the first time seeing him as a man expected to always make the right choice and not an infallible King.

"Then Luna should have been your choice," Ravus said, voice faltering. "Arcturus should've been with her. It never should've been me. Why did mother warn no one of the attack? What Luna will be forced to do—it'll kill her—"

Regis took Ravus by the shoulder and pulled him against his chest. He said nothing as Ravus' fists clenched, nor as the boy broke into sobs on his shoulder.

He was King of Lucis, but he was a father, too.

Regis thought that had Ravus been captured without Lunafreya, his only use to the Empire would be that of a hostage and, when Regis refused to hand Lunafreya over to spare his life, he would likely have been executed.

"There's one thing I must ask of you. Not as a King, but as a man," Regis said once Ravus quieted. "Look after my son. He appears to favor you."

Ravus didn't respond, but Regis didn't expect one.

Perhaps it was the lingering guilt from Tenebrae, perhaps Ravus' grief reminded him of the sorrow he felt over the fate of his sons, and perhaps his request would make no difference with what was preordained, but for a moment he ignored his duty to the Astrals, the future, and he made the smallest effort to shift destiny.

x

* * *

x

When Ravus heard a knock in the middle of the night, he thought it was Belea Scientia.

She was the only one who knew how little he slept, how he didn't try most nights, how he preferred to sit and watch the city out of the window until dawn, noon, or even the next night.

She was the only one who'd truly seen the worst of him.

The plates in his closet had disappeared when he came back from his summons. Belea had waited outside to escort him back to his room, but sometime between facing King Regis and his dismissal, she'd cleaned his room. The long hallways, murals, and elevators had felt new to him, because he didn't remember the walk down.

Belea hadn't moved the furniture, but the window had been clean, the dust discreetly swept away.

Much like King Regis had a debt to him, he owed one to her.

Ravus stood and went to the door. He was dressed in night wear. All black, of course. After a much-needed bath, the clothes he'd been wearing earlier conspicuously vanished.

Perhaps he only wore them for a day, or perhaps he hadn't changed since his clothes from Tenebrae were taken away. He didn't know.

It felt like he had been a ghost up until his summons. Drifting, doing nothing, remembering nothing.

He finally felt _alive._ Not quite how he used to be, but living, breathing, taking in the things around him instead of letting them pass through him.

Though instead of Belea, Ravus found the Crown Prince and his brother behind the door.

He blinked down at them.

Arcturus stood closest, in dark blue.

Noctis was behind him in black, holding his hand. The Crown Prince was tense, body angled away from him, free hand squeezing the bottom of his shirt.

"Can we sleep with you, Ravus?" Arcturus asked, drawing his attention. He didn't smile.

It threw Ravus off, not being called 'big brother.' He'd never admit it.

"You have your rooms," Ravus pointed out.

Noctis pulled his hand away. "I told you," he hissed at his brother. "This was stupid."

Ravus looked at Arcturus again and noted the wrinkles and creases in his clothes, like he'd been sleeping on a floor instead of a bed.

Noctis reminded Ravus of himself, after he woke from a terrible dream. Terrified and angry and trying desperately not to show it.

Arcturus stared up at him and Ravus thought of the furniture marks on his floor. It was irrational, but the room was filled with signs of his grief. He hesitated to let anyone see them.

Arcturus' shoulders hunched when Ravus let the silence linger and then he burst into tears.

He watched the prince rub at his eyes with his sleeve, trying to stifle himself and making it worse. Ravus remembered that he was only five years old.

A daemon and an invasion and he wasn't even six.

Noctis didn't come to his brother's aid but crouched, palms to his eyes. Ravus heard him take deep, uneven breaths.

If Belea hadn't largely left him alone, if he spent the last two weeks expected to act like a Prince, would it be him breaking down in a hallway in front of the door of a near-stranger?

Ravus sighed, closing his eyes. Someone would hear the prince and come for him eventually.

But this would happen again, inevitably. Only Arcturus wouldn't come to him.

Had anyone but their father treated them like the traumatized children they were? Would anyone else?

Ravus, pushing aside his discomfort and the urge to scrub a hand down his face, got down on his knees in front of Arcturus. "I'm sorry I upset you. You can stay if you wish."

Arcturus didn't hear him. Noctis had his hands over his ears.

Ravus hesitated. He reached out, inching closer, and picked Arcturus up.

He nearly fell back as the prince clung to him, arms squeezing around his neck, face pressed to his shoulder. With effort, Ravus stood, adjusting the prince.

The only child-carrying experience he had was with Luna, and only vaguely when she was an infant.

The collar of his shirt was uncomfortably wet. Ravus nudged Noctis with his toe and the Crown Prince drew back, starting to shift away when he looked up and his eyes popped open.

"You can come in," Ravus said, also with effort, because his arms were beginning to hurt.

Noctis scrambled up as he carried Arcturus inside, wiping his eyes with his shirt. "You're not supposed to carry him like that," the prince said as he closed the door. "He's not a baby."

"I don't see anyone around to stop me," Ravus replied. "Unless you'd like to try?"

Noctis stared at him.

Ravus, meanwhile, managed to dump Arcturus at the foot of the bed and dislodge his fingers. Said prince pulled the bedsheet up over his face, curling in on himself, sniffing still.

"Go up there," Ravus instructed, and Arcturus peeked at him as he pointed at the pillows.

His eyes went wide. A second passed before he climbed up.

Why, he wondered, had he chosen this again?

Noctis frowned at the bed, then at him.

"I'm not going to pick you up," Ravus said.

Noctis looked suddenly embarrassed. "I wasn't going to _ask_." He climbed up on his own.

Ravus, again questioning his own choices, maneuvered between them. Noctis was between him, the wall, and the window, doing his best not to touch him. Arcturus was half on his upper arm and knew nothing of personal space.

Ravus stared at the ceiling and mentally counted, making it to eighteen before Arcturus spoke.

"Tell us a story, big brother," he yawned.

"I don't know any stories," Ravus said, attempting to avoid the situation.

"Noct always tells me a story at bedtime. I can't fall asleep without one now."

Ravus turned his head, looking at Noctis for confirmation, but the prince only scrunched up his nose at him. Which wasn't an answer, but whatever.

"And you're absolutely telling the truth?" Ravus asked. As much as he did not want to tell a story, he wanted to be watched all night by judgmental children even less.

"I am," Arcturus said.

"Swear on the Draconian."

Arcturus huffed. "I swear to Bahamut."

Ravus, resigning himself to his fate, turned to stare at the ceiling. "Have you heard of the story of Solheim?"

"No," Arcturus answered.

"It was a city," Noctis muttered. "The first city. Don't know anything else."

"A long time ago, before Lucis or Tenebrae came to be, humans lived in the city of Solheim," Ravus began. He could almost trick himself into thinking he saw depictions of the War of the Astrals on the ceiling, as it was in the library in Fenestala Manor.

"In the early days of mankind, humans worshipped the Infernian—"

"No they didn't," Noctis denied, pulling the bedsheets over himself. "No one worships Ifrit."

"That's part of the story. If you'd let me finish it," Ravus said back.

Noctis didn't look apologetic.

"The people worshipped the Infernian," he began again. "Returning their devotion, the Infernian gave them fire. He protected them from the Glacian's ice and the Fulgarian's storms, warming them as they built Solheim. The Infernian favored them so much he shared his vast knowledge with their Kings."

Arcturus' head dipped down, hugging his arm.

"Solheim had better technology than we do now. Airships that could hold dozens of people at once. Magitek weapons strong enough to harm the gods," Ravus continued. "After a time, Solheim thought they didn't need the Infernian anymore and denied gifts from him and the other gods. The Infernian, spurned by the city he created, stopped warming them with his fire and let it burn them."

Ravus ignored the feeling of what might've been drool on his arm (he didn't want to look), and pretended not to notice the shifting on his other side as Noctis scooted closer, barely touching him.

"The Six, upon seeing how many died to the Infernian's wrath and would yet, declared war on him to stop him before he could turn beyond Solheim and burn all of humanity. We call it the War of the Astrals," Ravus explained. He felt a weight on his chest and looked down at a mess of black hair and black clothes.

Noctis' eyes were shut.

Ravus looked back up. "Turned into a battleground between the gods, Solheim—" he broke off with a yawn, surprising himself. Perhaps it was the warmth on either side of him, the darkness, or that he was reciting a history new only to the princes, but he felt suddenly tired.

Luna had grown up too fast, he thought.

What was a bedtime story to someone who knew the future?

"—Solheim was destroyed," Ravus said. "The weapons they built were not strong enough, nor numerous enough. The Archean, the Fulgurian, the Draconian, the Hydrian, and the Glacian eventually subdued the Infernian, but not without cost. The war weakened them and the starscourge..."

Ravus caught himself as he trailed off, forcing his eyes back open.

"The starscourge came to be during the war or quickly after it ended and—the gods slept—"

Ravus drifted off. He slept until dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I never again have to write from Regis' POV it'll be too soon.
> 
> An average power plant has 400-700 workers total.
> 
> 400/7 days a week = roughly 57 workers per day.
> 
> 57/2 (assuming 12 hour shifts) = roughly 28 workers.
> 
> In other words I did too much math for a number I could've made up send help.


End file.
